


Idiocy as a Form of Retribution

by 3musketears



Series: K's Soft Goro Week 2020 Fics [3]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akechi Goro needs a nap, Double Dating, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Soft Goro Week 2020, all of these boys are different kinds of dumb, and a raise, chaotic energy, soft boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25264498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3musketears/pseuds/3musketears
Summary: Soft Goro Week Day 5 - Love and Bonds“I thought I said to dress semi-formal.”The instant the Ryuji showed up at their rendezvous point in front of Leblanc, Akira knew all Goro’s visions of a peaceful, normal double date had shattered. Wishful thinking really, with the eccentric and the bombastic in tow that was never going to come to fruition anyway, regardless of their attire. Yusuke at least had a semblance of the right idea, ahead of time he’d sent images of vibrant yukata, which at least counted as formal wear even though it was the wrong occasion. Ryuji, on the other hand, sported a t-shirt and joggers.“I checked with Ann a bunch of times,” Ryuji said. He tugged on his black graphic tee. “Unless she was messing with me, this should say “semi-formal” in English on it.”Akira and Goro go on a double date with Yusuke and Ryuji. Hijinks ensue.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist, Kitagawa Yusuke/Sakamoto Ryuji, Kurusu Akira & Sakamoto Ryuji
Series: K's Soft Goro Week 2020 Fics [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1843141
Comments: 19
Kudos: 171
Collections: Day 5 - Love and Bonds





	Idiocy as a Form of Retribution

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to note that this fic was completed before that horrifying everything is cake thing happened  
> Enjoy!

“I thought I said to dress semi-formal.”

The instant the Ryuji showed up at their rendezvous point in front of Leblanc, Akira knew all Goro’s visions of a peaceful, normal double date had shattered. Wishful thinking really, with the eccentric and the bombastic in tow that was never going to come to fruition anyway, regardless of their attire. Yusuke at least had a semblance of the right idea, ahead of time he’d sent images of vibrant yukata, which at least counted as formal wear even though it was the wrong occasion. Ryuji, on the other hand, sported a t-shirt and joggers.

“I checked with Ann a bunch of times,” Ryuji said. He tugged on his black graphic tee. “Unless she was messing with me, this should say “semi-formal” in English on it.”

Akira could imagine thick black smoke pouring out of his boyfriend’s ears. Goro scoffed. “That does not count. You're just wearing what you usually wear”

“Dude, I'm pretty sure you wore that exact outfit two days ago.”

Goro looked down at himself. To the untrained eye, that claim held plenty of water, but the white button-up and black dress pants he wore now cost more than his usual garb. Plus the edition of the black and blue striped blazer draped over his arm, which Akira had all but demanded he buy because _“Come on Goro, it’s too perfect_.” 

“False. These are much higher quality, and I have a blazer but I’m just too hot to wear it at the moment,” Goro said.

“But honey,” Akira began, snaking an arm around his waist, “you’re always hot.” He added a wink at the end for maximum corniness. Ryuji audibly groaned.

“At least wait until we meet up with my date before you start being all gross.” Ryuji mimed retching before turning on his heel towards the station. “Let's go meet Yusuke.”

There were no seats left on the train to Ginza. Akira was secretly pleased, it gave him an excuse to pull Goro close and press him against his chest as the passengers swayed. Ryuji looked at Goro holding onto him like a love interest in an action movie poster and playfully waggled his eyebrows at his best friend. In response, Akira slowly moved his hand so that it hovered an inch or so away from Goro’s ass, maintaining a blank face and eye contact with Ryuji the whole time. His composure nearly broke at the resulting mimed vomiting from the blonde, but he stood his ground. Goro was either unaware of all of this or had decided both of them were hopeless imbeciles and his efforts to civilize them would be for naught. Which was funny coming from a guy who 1) was dating one of the said imbeciles and 2) spent a solid month screaming himself raw in the Metaverse as a bastardized feral form of catharsis. Akira, being a known imbecile, loved him even more for both.

The plan was originally for all four of them to meet at Leblanc, but Yusuke only really had the money for one train ride, that being the one from the Kosei dorms to Ginza. Ryuji bemoaned the dire situation of being stuck with the couple so infamously sappy that attempted murder was just a chip on the shoulder to them (False. It was to Akira, but he was the only one who bore witness to the nights where he had to coax Goro out from the corner he’d backed himself into and assure him that he wasn’t a danger to others. Goro didn’t like talking about the nightmares, but Akira got the sinking feeling that a lot of them ended with blood spilling from a round hole blown into a curtain of dark curly bangs). Despite his complaints, Ryuji did not offer to pay for Yusuke’s ride, so he dug his own grave there. 

Just as expected, they found Yusuke in front of the restaurant Goro had recommended. He and Ryuji made a curious pair side by side— one tragically underdressed and the other with the right spirit but the wrong outcome. They couldn’t really expect Yusuke to own more than one formal outfit given his budget; he must’ve skipped out on a meal or something to have been able to purchase his yukata at all. Alternatively, he could have bought it merely for its aesthetic value and therefore subtracted that money from his art supplies budget.

Ryuji gave his tall boyfriend a toothy grin. “Looking great dude! You’re all fancy and shit.” He looked at the entrance to the restaurant. “I dunno if it’s fancy enough for this kind of place though. _Damn_ , Akechi, what were you thinking?”

“The exterior is indeed very impressive,” Yusuke agreed, “I have no doubt the interior is even more extravagant.” Through the window, the crystals of a large chandelier twinkled in the light.

“I assumed you would clean yourself up a bit, but I suppose my expectations were too high,” Goro said with all the disappointment of a mother coming home to find that her child wrote “peepee poopoo” in permanent marker all over the walls, juvenile antics smearing his romantic visions.

For Goro, Akira knew date nights were always high stakes occurrences. The two of them shared a love of dramatics, but while Akira could adapt and go with the flow, Goro remained a staunch perfectionist. When things went awry, it was Akira’s job to twist them around to carve a new path, one that was vastly different but romantic enough that Goro would forgive the change of plans. 

In one instance, they had planned to have a picnic in Inokashira Park underneath the falling petals of the sakura trees. Despite his infamous culinary ineptitude, Goro had insisted on assuming the duty of packing their basket for the day. While much of it was store-bought, Akira found it endlessly endearing that Goro had made two sandwiches and tried to bake cookies. The sandwiches had been fine if a bit too tall and overstuffed. It was fortunate Akira had plenty of Big Bang Challenge jaw-unhinging experience under his too-tight belt. And watching Goro be unable to fit his own creation in his mouth had been quite humorous. His cookies— since he actually had to mix and bake them instead of slapping ingredients onto bread— were a bit more questionable, but just to make him smile Akira had eaten three. 

The divergence in Goro’s romantic ideal had not come from the quality of his food. It had originated from the sudden downpour crashing down on them. Goro had yelled a string of curses at the sky, to which the sky only responded by soaking his clothes. Their spot had been far away from any shelter or train stations, Goro intentionally picked it so that they wouldn’t be bothered by anyone else. After the initial shock, the two of them had scrambled to shove everything back in the picnic basket. By the time they’d done that, there was no point in trying to stay dry. The ground had squelched beneath their feet, their shoes and pants splashed with thick brown mud. As Goro had begun to pace back and forth bemoaning the death of his khakis, Akira had formed the inkling of an idea. 

Goro’s white dress shirt had clung to his thin shoulders, pale skin fully visible under the thin fabric. He might as well have just taken it off, there had been _nothing_ left to the imagination there. But Akira had seen this in the movies, couples running through the rain, kicking up puddles, running hands through wet hair and kissing as the water fell down their faces. Everyone else had fled the park, the fear of judging eyes could no longer tether them. Goro’s grumbling about looking like a drowned rat had been put to a halt by Akira’s hands in his hair and Akira’s lips on his mouth. 

When they had returned home and were lying on the couch in their damp underwear, Goro had turned to Akira and snickered. “You’re such a sap, kissing me in the rain like that.” He gave Akira a small smile. “I had a good time.”

If Akira could make that work, he could salvage this. He walked up to the podium with utmost confidence. “We have a reservation for four at 6:30. The name is Akira Kurusu.”

The hostess took in their group with tangible confusion, her eyes shifting from the well dressed “leader” and the put-together brunette attached to his hip to the other two, who seemed not to have gotten the memo. “Oh, yes, I see you,” she said, “Do you have a preference over table or booth?”

“Either is fine. Thank you.”

Secretly, it pleased Akira when she led them to a booth, so he and Goro would be right next to each other. He noted its position- exiled away from a lot of the snottier-looking customer base- with amusement. None of the others seemed to care, maybe Goro looked a bit relieved. Akira heard Yusuke’s sandals making loud clacking noises on the shiny tile floor. They seated themselves one couple on each seat, with Ryuji and Akira taking the edges. Akira thanked the hostess again after she told them their waiter would be arriving shortly. 

The young man who appeared with four menus looked underpaid. Not that his appearance hinted at a lack of funds, the sheer exhaustion and nervousness in his face gave the notion that he didn't get paid enough for this shit. If Akira learned anything from the Wilton Hotel buffet, it was that rich people think they can be douche bags because they have money. So maybe their party of normal teens brought some relief, or just caused more distress at the possibility of the unknown. 

“Duuuude,” Ryuji said, the true master of romantic pet names, “look at all the shit they have here. And all the meat appetizers!”

Yusuke was quick to burst his bubble. He only spared the menu a brief glance before returning to his work. “I could not afford any of those.”

“Oh _shit_. Who the eff is paying for all of this?” Ryuji exclaimed a bit too loudly. For certainly not the last time this evening, Goro appeared to long for the comforting grip of a tv remote in his hand so he could muffle whatever racket Akira chose as their companion for the night. It tended to be quiz shows on their actual tv, which Akira was pretty sure Goro only got annoyed by because sometimes the contestants knew trivia that he didn’t.

Goro shifted to dig through his pockets, squishing his thigh into Akira’s even more. He unburied his wallet, which held several cute pictures of the two of them in a photo booth, Goro looking completely bewildered while Akira squished his cheeks. Behind all their goofiness were two credit cards. He pulled the shinier one out and placed it on the table. “The only benefit to my lineage coming to light during Shido’s investigation was the revelation that he owed me several years of child support. And half-assed compensation for my array of psychological problems.”

“Dude.” Only Ryuji could use that word with such profound emotional depth. 

Similarly, only Goro could make such a vicious smirk look simultaneously hot and adorable. It must’ve been the little spark in his eyes lit from the ashes of his misery. Akira was a sucker for coming back from the dead. They were crows of a murder in that regard. “The definitive straight rapist douchebag will be paying for our joint homosexual activities tonight.”

Any subsequent whooping Ryuji felt compelled to let loose was squandered by Yusuke yanking the menu with great force from his hands, now unshackled by the constraints of money. Ryuji easily slung an arm over his shoulder and pointed at various menu items, trying and failing the properly pronounce some of the more sophisticated ingredients while Yusuke calmly corrected him. On the other hand, Goro didn’t even give Akira a chance to look at the appetizers, he skipped straight to the entrée menu. When Akira looked at him questioningly, Goro simply jerked his head at the duo across the table, as if to indicate they had that covered. And he was right, despite the short glance he got at that page he was pretty sure Ryuji and Yusuke decided they should order nearly every single option except for a plate of Brussel sprouts.

When they ordered, Akira flipped to that page for reference and confirmed his suspicions to be true. Hopefully, Goro didn’t have too many other spite-fueled plans for this money lined up since the waiter’s frantic scribbling effectively sealed off his options. He knew Goro already donated portions to a few orphanages and was using his links to Sae and Ohya plus his own scariness to make sure it got put to good use. Spending donation money on gambling or jewelry instead of bettering the quality of life or bringing in a psychologist would be much harder with a nosy reporter poking around, a scary lawyer boss lady breathing down their necks, and a boy personally scorned by the system checking in regularly to ask the kids themselves if there had been any improvements. Goro reveled in the poeticness of it all, the dirty money of the man who abandoned his mother and left him parentless being redirected towards the very demographic he harmed the most. Besides the entire female gender. Goro had yet to find a way to cancel sexism as a concept, but Akira knew if anyone had the motive besides any actual women, it would be him.

While they waited for the onslaught of appetizers to arrive, Akira took Goro’s hand from under the table. He knew the detective would never let him get away with full-on public cuddling, the mindset of vulnerability being equated to weakness was too deep in his veins, coursing through his bloodstream and making him seize up at the sensation of touch. This gesture was acceptable because it was out of sight, concealed by the furniture. If anything Akira thought it might be grounding for him, an anchor keeping Goro at the shore when the sea of his thoughts threatened to pull him into the riptide. 

However, currently, Akira’s poor hand ached as Goro proceeded to squeeze it like a stress ball. Akira assumed the thought process was that Goro could not strangle Ryuji if he was busy breaking Akira’s fingers. Oh, the sacrifice of having the ideal boyfriend wrapped around his finger— incredibly smart, greatly appealing to the eye, really scary/sexy when enraged, and easily flustered.

“While I am all for splurging my abusive father’s funds,” Goro began, “I fail to see how you plan on eating the excessive amount of food you just ordered. Just one of those plates is intended to be shared by a whole table. You won’t have any room for your actual dinners. And I doubt this kind of high-end place allows you to take home leftovers.” The rich folks who frequented these establishments didn’t care if they wasted any food, and could easily come back for a repeat visit whenever they pleased.

“Rest assured, I have not eaten since yesterday morning,” Yusuke said, “I think I will be able to consume a large portion.” 

No one was reassured by that. 

“Oh my _god_ , Yusuke.” “ _Dude!!!_ ” “Why the fuck didn’t you eat.”

The appetizers arrived in waves like the phases of a battle. Just as Ryuji was about to dig his hands into one, another arrived right behind it. Akira came to the resounding conclusion that if Ryuji had a palace, this would be it. Just endless plates of meat being delivered right in front of him with no need for him to worry about the cost. The only thing that could top it would be a massive swimming pool of ramen. Yusuke’s palace would have to do with the pursuit of art of course, but he seemed to be very much okay with indulging in Ryuji’s distorted protein desires.

Akira couldn’t tell if Yusuke was fervently sketching the mountains of food before they were swallowed into the void or if he was drawing the pure glee on the face of the chief devourer-to-be. Next to him, Goro glanced at his wallet and sighed. The gears were turning in his head, maybe he was devising a plan to smuggle the leftovers to feed starving children. God, Akira loved him so much.

“Your noodle bowl and sushi will be arriving shortly,” the waiter said, sounded thoroughly winded from hauling all of those dishes around. At the sound of the phrase _noodle bowl_ , Goro squinted but didn’t release his judgment into the air just yet. That would come when their meals did.

Ryuji reached out a hand to grab the first bite, but Yusuke pointed to one of the other large plates. “I have finished drawing this one, so you may begin to eat it now.”

The hand was retracted. “Shit, sorry, dude,” Ryuji apologized. “Wouldn’t wanna ruin your drawing.”

“You are forgiven, as the deed was prevented before it occurred.”

With a pair of very nice looking chopsticks, Akira plucked some of the pork gyoza from the dish and dunked it into the soy sauce. Upon tasting it, he had flashbacks to the first time he went out to get a beef bowl with Ryuji when their present unbreakable-bro-bond was beginning to form, the blonde describing his food as a “meaty explosion in his mouth.” The whole spread in front of them seemed to suit that description, every form of juicy protein represented in some form. It kinda reminded Akira of the Wilton Hotel buffet they’d had where they officially formed the Phantom Thieves, except instead of the dishes being spread across a long table they were all practically stacked on Ryuji’s lap.

“Thish ish amurzimg,” Ryuji moaned into the food, “ya _gotta_ try thishtuff.” Yusuke paused his sketching to try one himself. The resulting amused hum was a notable departure from his typical cool bizarreness, as was actually closing his sketchbook to destroy his reference image with his own hands, a truly remarkable and astonishing sight.

Goro was not impressed. Until he was. Intermittently, Akira glanced towards his boyfriend and saw his lips part as the first two dishes were wiped clean, down to the last crumbs. Akira pitched in whenever he saw fit, but the other couple was doing the majority of the heavy lifting. The waiter even showed up with every intention of taking every last plate away, a fleet of other staff behind him to help with the load. When he moved to take some of the untouched plates, Ryuji waved him off with a hand. At least he had enough manners to not try to verbalize it with his mouth full of food this time.

Just before he left with the empty plates, Goro called out to the waiter, “Excuse me, sir?” The waiter turned back around and Goro smiled sweetly. “There’s no need to wait until the appetizers are finished before you bring the food. Just bring it whenever you’re ready!” The utter drop in his expression once the waiter left again was horribly sexy. Akira fondly thought that he really got himself a man who could do both. “Hypothetically, let’s say you two actually finish all of this food. How then, do you plan on eating your actual dinner?”

Yusuke picked up a tsukune by the stick and stared at it in contemplation. “In the duration of our existence,” he began, piquing the interest of everyone except Goro, who looked ready to bite the chicken meatball right off of Yusuke’s skewer, “we are all confronted with a series of trials and tribulations. While these often manifest in the form of daunting challenges that test our very psychological resilience, in rare cases they can also be opportunities to regain what is lost. In front of me, I see with my own two eyes a feast capable of filling the void I carve out of my innermost soul for the sake of my artistic pursuits. The limitations of humanity cannot stop me, Akechi Goro, not when the canvas demands I grace its blank slate with innovation once more. I must be reborn through the consumption of this luxurious meal so that I can one-day capture beauty in its purest form, unburdened by the concerns of the body’s needs. The wealth we have distributed to this establishment— brought into your hands by the apprehension of _your_ paternal tormentor— shall be used to eradicate the bad habits instilled in me by mine. For beauty, for art, and for retribution, I shall conquer this feast.” In lieu of a mic drop, Yusuke took a bite.

Out of mere shock, Akira applauded him softly. Ryuji was crying into the soy sauce, marveling at the artistry that sprung forth from his lover’s lips. Whatever sassy or questioning comment Goro wanted to say was silenced as he gave in and took a tsukune for himself. If Akira had to guess, the “retribution” part was what made him fold, even though the connection was more than a bit of a stretch. 

The dinner itself was uneventful. Yusuke and Ryuji split up a large bowl of noodles and repeatedly failed to perform some spaghetti kiss that Yusuke had seen in an American animated film. Akira couldn’t help but snicker when the wet noodle whacked Ryuji in the forehead. For him and Goro, they shared a plate of expensive sushi. When the plate arrived, Akira made all witnesses present swear not to tell Morgana that they had sushi without him. Ryuji teased that he might tell him anyway just to see the cat be mad at someone else for once (he lacked the knowledge that Morgana was _very_ upset initially at having to share his cuddle space with the _stupid bitch ass traitor boy_. Akira’s response that the _traitor boy_ did indeed have an ass only made Morgana angrier), but indulged the corny pinky promise. 

With his chopsticks, Akira took a sushi roll and held it up to Goro’s mouth. Goro glared at him. “We’re in public, you insufferable sap.”

“If you don’t open your mouth soon this thing is gonna fall apart,” Akira warned. His bullshitting —and Goro _absolutely_ recognized it as such, he was too smart not too— was a success, so much so that the detective let Akira be sappy for the rest of their meal.

Once they finished, it came time for Goro’s favorite part: dessert. When the waiter handed them the dessert menus, Goro’s face lit up brighter than the stars outside. His eyes quickly skimmed over all the options, and then went back to take a closer look at anything that piqued his interest. He murmured some of the menu descriptions out loud by accident as he read them over.

Akira rested his chin on his boyfriend’s shoulder and peered at the menu. “Is there any point in splitting something with you when I know you’ll end up barely leaving any for me?” he asked. Ryuji snorted.

An adorable grumpy pout found its way onto Goro’s face. Akira pinched his puffed-out cheeks. “It’s fine you know,” the thief said, “I can just get my own food. We’ll end up stealing from each others’ plates anyway.”

Goro shook his head. “No, we can share. I’m trying not to have too much anyway since I told Ann I’d go shopping with her tomorrow. And it's impossible to have an outing with her without sweets.” He pointed to a dish. “How does this sound? That’s usually pretty light.”

“I trust your taste. I’ll take whatever you want.”

Yusuke’s gaze only left his sketchbook when Ryuji shoved the menu in his face and excitedly pointed to a dish that stood out to him. He looked to his vulgar boyfriend’s expectant face and nodded. Ryuji fist pumped and closed the menu.

The waiter returned shortly to take their order. Before either Goro or Akira could ask for their soufflé cheesecake, Ryuji said, “We want a big ass cake!”

On impulse, Akira looked to see what variant of irritation was on Goro’s face. Today’s flavor-of-the-day was “barely repressed,” his tight-lipped smile looked incredibly forced and his right eye twitched enough to be alarming. When he turned to the waiter he maintained that same unsettling edition of his tv face. With a voice sweet as poisoned cake he said, “Ignore him, we’ll just take the check, thank you.”

“No, don’t listen to this buzzkill,” Ryuji retorted, “he’s just scared because he knows he’ll eat the whole cake and get fat.” The chandelier hanging above them acted as a lightbulb floating over Yusuke’s head. He flipped to a new page and started scribbling frantically. Akira couldn’t blame him, every visual component of this whole interaction oozed expressiveness. The pure terror on the waiter’s face, Ryuji’s confident determination, Goro plotting murder behind crazed eyes. He’d take a picture, but the fear of being slaughtered on sight kept his phone lodged in his back pocket.

Ryuji stood up in his seat and slammed his hands on the table. “We want the _biggest_ ass cake you’ve got!” he yelled.

“If you don’t have that flavor, we would not mind strawberry,” Yusuke added idly. Akira nearly lost it.

Goro leaned far over Akira to offer the waiter his credit card. “I will pay you extra to just give us the check. Take my credit card!” he said. His voice cracked on the subsequent cutesy giggle.

The waiter’s eyes flicked between his two options, following procedure and listening to the punk who clearly didn’t know the dress code, or appeasing the scary twink with the shiny card. Judging solely from how they were dressed, it definitely looked like the twink would be the one paying regardless of what decision they came to.

“One large strawberry cake, coming right up sir,” the waiter said, barely audible. He skittered away and Ryuji whooped victoriously. Yusuke’s hand on his shoulder gently coaxed the blonde back into his seat. 

To Goro’s disapproving glare, Ryuji said, “Oh chill out, Akechi. Everyone and their mother knows you’re secretly looking forward to it.”

“I did not appreciate your commentary,” Goro said through gritted teeth.

“Psshh relaaax. You’ll still be pretty or whatever if you eat some cake. Just look at Ann. She’s a model who eats the biggest crepes in Tokyo every day.”

“I fail to see the validity in comparing me to a goddess whose stomach is a black hole.”

Sometime later, a different waiter arrived with a check and a beautiful strawberry cake. Ruining its striking decor almost seemed like a criminal offense. Akira snapped the aesthetic photo he knew Goro was resisting the urge to take before cutting himself the first slice. Even for all his skill with a knife, it still proved a difficult feat to carve an even triangle into the round dessert. The following slices for Ryuji and Yusuke came easily after that, one look at Goro told him not to bother cutting a fourth. 

Ryuji immediately dug in. His eyes went wide at the taste of the sweet sponge. Yusuke opted to draw his slice before actually starting to eat it, or at least that’s what Akira assumed was happening. For all he knew, the artist could be drawing them all as pigeons. He’d love to see what Yusuke’s interpretation of the previous debacle was. 

Akira scooped up a bite with his fork and poked at Goro’s closed mouth with it. He didn’t react to the fact that Akira was smooshing frosting all over his cheek aside from a stony glare. The former leader of the Phantom Thieves persisted for a bit longer, then gave up and shoved the piece- now with no frosting left- into his own mouth. 

He cut seconds for Yusuke, being appropriately generous knowing how little the artist normally ate. Ryuji passed, all the appetizers from earlier completely filled him up. 

From where their thighs were touching, he could feel Goro’s entire body vibrating, a clear sign of a crumbling resolve. Akira plucked a single strawberry from the top and offered it to his sealed lips. “Come on,” Akira said, “it’s not even cake.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Goro ate it, took the knife, and cut himself a slice bigger than all three of theirs combined. It nearly fell over before he could get it onto his own plate with how much wider it was than the cake cutter. With frosting still smeared on his face, he took the first bite. His sweet tooth deemed it worthy. “Mmmm!” he swallowed it, “This is divine!”

“Told you so,” Ryuji said smugly, “just make sure you don’t-” Goro reached across the table to get more. Ryuji looked at his plate, now empty except for some lingering crumbs. “What the actual shit, Akechi? How did you eat all that cake so fast?”

“Wiff mah mouwf,” the detective replied around another faceful. 

“Huh?”

Goro swallowed, then repeated himself sans cake, “With my mouth, of course.” Before he’d started eating, the cake had been a little under halfway depleted. Now more than three-quarters of it had disappeared. Akira swore he unhinged his jaw and swallowed it whole. 

“Remember that time you tried to convince me you only ate sweets for your public image?” Akira teased. Goro paused eating briefly to take off one glove, wipe some of the frosting off of his face, and smear it down Akira’s nose. Ryuji took a picture and burst out laughing. 

When the second waiter returned to take their check, a barren battlefield awaited him. The cake was no more, vanquished forever by their combined forces. The MVP’s head rested on the table, his hair spilling over onto the sketchbook of the artist across from him. The bespectacled boy who actually handed over the check was giving him a back rub while chatting with the noisy blonde. 

“Goro, I’m handing over your credit card so we can pay,” Akira said, “then you can rest on a bench at the batting cages. Or we could take a walk for a bit.”

“I feel like a water balloon,” Goro mumbled into the table. 

“Well I, for one, love water balloons. They’re lots of fun and they make me think of summer,” Akira replied.

“That’s your worst flirt of the night.”

“Rude. If I poke you hard enough, do you think you’ll pop?” Akira asked, already testing the theory. He found that Goro’s balloon comparison held water, even though his poking just made him grumpier. Akira pushed the boy’s hair away so he could see his face. Leaning down, he pressed a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. “There, no more frosting.”

“Akira!” Goro yelped. “You’re incorrigible. If you insist on pestering me at least loosen my belt too.”

Akira laughed. “Are you hearing this, Ryuji? He slanders me and then tells me to undo his pants. Unbelievable.” Despite his verbal outcry, he obliged.

“Hey, man. You’re the one who decided to date him. You brought this upon yourself,” Ryuji said. Wise words from someone in under-the-table kicking range. Ryuji peered over his own boyfriend's sketchbook. He had to be the only person Akira had ever seen whose eyes could widen so absurdly that he truly thought they could bulge out of his head. But for Yusuke’s sketches to warrant his shaken muppet face, they had to be on another level. Maybe his pigeon guess wasn’t so far off. 

Speaking of Yusuke’s artistic endeavors, the reasons behind the selection of their other destination were hilariously in character. Ryuji had enthusiastically exclaimed, “I wanna hit some balls!” while Yusuke saw the batting cage as an opportunity to practice dynamic figure drawing. Their chaotic energies were far from identical, but somehow they fit perfectly together. Yusuke had once explained that Ryuji was the ideal model for bettering his work, expressive to no end in every aspect of his being, bold with no shame. In sketching Ryuji, he accomplished a great many things. He improved his ability to capture the facade of motion, to replicate an expression down to the minute details, to immortalize a tribute to his love, and— the one Akira found the most amusing— to take a realistic image in three dimensions and translate it into a stylized replica in two dimensions. Ryuji acted like a cartoon, so it was a smaller leap to turn him into one than it was with the average person. Yusuke prided himself on stylistic variety. Akira just thought it was really goddamn funny because he was absolutely right. The two of them together looked ideal for inventive character design— one a towering string bean and the other a smaller bowl of energy.

Their quad of gay clowns departed the realm of the wealthy heteros, Goro whining about how much his stomach hurt while the other three decided that was absolutely the result of his own actions, to which Goro glared at Ryuji and reminded them all who ordered the big ass cake to begin with. Luckily, the train to Yongen-Jaya did have some seats open since it was later in the evening. Akira didn’t mind Goro leaning on his shoulder either, despite the stream of grumbled complaints in his ear.

Akira was never really much of a sports guy, despite Shuujin’s tiring and sometimes dangerous attempts to bolster its reputation with more focus on athletics. In his second year of high school, he was too busy with Phantom Thief work and odd jobs to pursue any extracurriculars, not to mention those environments would likely not be so welcoming towards the delinquent transfer student. Given the option, he would’ve liked to try theater. After discovering his love of dramatics as Joker, Akira had yet to find a more legal activity that could appease his urge. Well, besides the equally dramatic boyfriend, that is. 

Regardless, he’d gone to the batting cages a few times before simply because of their proximity. A few times with someone else, other times just to focus all his frustrations into whacking a ball into the ceiling so he could remain calm for the remainder of the day. That practice was partially Goro-inspired, seeing how the detective unleashed the full heat of his fury onto shadows in the Metaverse. Akira had once teased that it looked like he was having a bit too much fun, to which Goro had shrugged and said, “Better to release it here on these lifeless monsters than on the furniture in my apartment. It minimizes the collateral damage and the possibility of an outburst.”

There’d be no raging catharsis for either of them tonight though. And that was okay. The pair of them sat on the bench while Ryuji set up the pitching machine, Goro getting a bit drowsy from all the food. As he had on the train, Akira happily offered his services as a human pillow, which Goro took full advantage of. A normal couple would’ve sat like this watching the sunset. They were both suckers for that sort of romantic cliche, but in a bizarre way, watching the antics of their friends was equally memorable. 

The first ball flew right past Ryuji at lightning speed, the blonde whistling as it sped by his face. “Daaaaamn,” he said, then he turned to Yusuke. “How bad do you think it’d hurt to take that ball right to the nuts?”

“Let us test it for ourselves,” Yusuke declared, “in order to truly capture pain in its rawest form, I must experience it first hand.”

As Yusuke lined himself up in front of the pitching machine, Goro snorted loudly. It echoed a bit in the cavernous space, though the turf lining the floors minimized the damage. “This is gonna be good,” he drawled.

“I think this place sells popcorn in the vending machines,” Akira mused. “Should I get you some to go with our evening entertainment.”

“Ugh. I never want to eat again.”

Akira put on his best pout. “Not even my cooking?”

“Hm. I’ll make an exception for your cooking, I suppose,” Goro replied. He fidgeted with his hands. “I like this,” he said suddenly. “Being with others, I mean. Even if they’re complete idiots. It’s nice.”

Knowing where they started from, Akira understood the full weight of this admission. If he closed his eyes sometimes he was back in the engine room watching Goro deteriorate right in front of him. Jealousy rearing its ugly head, a feeling deep-rooted in an all-consuming sorrow. In the days following, all Akira had been able to think was that the one person he couldn’t save was the one who needed it the most. If Akira had just done a bit more— kept the pancake slip-up between himself and Morgana so the team wouldn’t see Goro as a threat, took a chance and believed that the possibility of finally having friends might make him seek help— then this wouldn’t have happened. He knew Goro would never have let Akira rescue him though. Vulnerability was a burden, a weakness to be targetted and destroyed. Just as strong as his self-loathing was his stubborn pride, Goro would do things on his own terms, and he certainly would not be changed by some disgraceful offering of perceived pity.

For him to now so directly counter his previous “ _teammates, friends, to hell with that!_ ” was nothing short of remarkable. The Phantom Thieves may have been disbanded and the Metaverse dismantled, but that wasn’t stopping any changes of heart. It seemed brainlessly sentimental, but Akira couldn’t deny the influence of forming bonds. His bonds strengthened the power of the wildcard, they made him better in both worlds. In the here and now, Goro was finally awakening that power, at long last tapping into his true potential. There would likely never be a chance to see it in action with the summoning of numerous personas, but the lift in Goro’s demeanor said enough.

“I’m glad you’re having fun, honey,” Akira said, “we could do something like this again. It wouldn’t even have to be a date per se, just hanging out with people.”

Goro hummed in agreement. “I don’t think I’d mind that.” Just as Akira pressed a kiss to the top of Goro’s head, Yusuke howled in unspeakable pain and collapsed to the floor. Ryuji winced and ran to his aide. Goro sighed.

“They’re still idiots, though.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments make my entire world, so if you enjoyed this fic don't be shy!


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